Papa has left us. We’ll never stop missing him. He could fix any broken thing except our hearts because we can no longer ask his advice on whether the pieces should be glued, nailed, stitched or stapled back together. He would know what tools to use. Born September 10, 1949 in Vancouver, Washington, Benny Rex Wilson, who went by Ben, was the youngest son of Jim and Elaine Wilson and brother of Jimmy Wilson, all of whom passed on before him. His formative years were spent on the Oregon coast where his family owned the Greenleaf motel at Gleneden Beach near Lincoln City.

Ben grew up an outdoorsman; he could name any tree that grew in the Pacific Northwest, once had a pet crow, and went beachcombing for Japanese glass fishing floats and agates that washed in after a storm. He fished for salmon, went crabbing, and dug for clams. He started getting grey hairs at the age of sixteen and worked to pay for his first car before he could drive.

After his graduation from Taft Highschool, he received his Vietnam induction notice and moved to Canada to dodge the draft. He was twenty. Ben had a variety of occupations when he first arrived in Vancouver, British Columbia, including a job at Seagram’s Distillery, but settled on the trade of floor installation. He eventually became the best in the business in the Lower Mainland due to his precise and beautifully finished work.

He met Karen Hart in 1972. The first thing she said to him was, “Is that your real hair?” They were best friends and life companions for 50 years. When they had children, the family moved to Tsawwassen, near the beach and the border. He taught his daughter, Shay, to listen to protest songs and appreciate history. He taught his son, Justin, his trade and how to fish and they worked and fished together for many years. Ben was a friend and mentor to his nephew, Rick and his niece, Dawn. He taught all of us to truly notice the natural world, he pointed out every hawk on a fence post, every heron in a ditch, black bears and foxes on the side of the road, he brought us buckets of seawater full of purple starfish. He would urgently speak your name and say, “look at that, look.”

Ben received his Canadian citizenship in 2015. He was soft-spoken and kind, but a raconteur, sparkling with humour, after a few cans of Kokanee. He loved old stuff, good deals, orange cats and any dragon in written or cinematic form. Ben passed away from complications relating to COPD on January 6, 2022 at the age of 72. He enjoyed six years of playing with his grandchildren, Jamie and Hunter, who clambered all over him like squirrels.